


Contention Over Degrees Of Wrongness

by afteriwake



Series: A Matter Of Honour [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Mycroft, Annoyed Anthea, BAMF Mycroft, British Politics, Established Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, F/M, Fist Fights, Gala Event, Honor, Name-Calling, No Longer Secret, POV Anthea, Protective Mycroft, Reveal, Scheming Lady Smallwood, Secret Relationship, Worried Anthea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a government function, a lecherous lord makes the mistake of calling Anthea a whore in front of the man who loves her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contention Over Degrees Of Wrongness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stickyrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/gifts), [Chitarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chitarra/gifts).



> **stickyrice** wanted to read about the actual fight, saying, and I quote " _I am quite partial to a BAMF mycroft_." I was more than happy to oblige, especially when **Chitarra** asked for a Mythea fic to be one of the ones written for the fics leading up to my 700th Sherlock fic. The title comes from a quote from  Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year by Richelle E. Goodrich (" _Your opponent's wrong doesn't automatically make you right. Most fights aren't about who's right; they are contention over degrees of wrongness._ ")

She usually quite detested events like this. Not that she didn’t mind dressing up in fancy clothes and enjoying good food and good conversation and dancing with men that occasionally knew what they were doing, but because at appearances like these she had to pretend to simply be Mycroft’s PA and not his lover, and that let other men think that they were able to take liberties with her, or that they could avail themselves to her.

Even though, of course, her relationship with Mycroft was rather an open secret.

She sipped from the champagne flute she had picked up from the passing tray that had gone by, looking around. Mycroft was chatting with Lady Smallwood and they looked as though they were having a rather amiable conversation. Since the affair with Magnussen and his death at the hands of Sherlock Lady Smallwood had taken an interest in Mycroft. Not a carnal or romantic interest, thankfully, but a professional one that would benefit him. And the fact that Lady Smallwood also approved of her boded well as well. If push ever came to shove and situations had to change, Lady Smallwood would help ensure they came out in Mycroft’s favour.

“Anthea,” she heard a drunken voice slur from her left, and she bit back a sigh. Lord George Waverley was a lecherous man who had been trying to find his way into her knickers for years and failing miserably. She looked for a way out of the conversation he was angling for and the only thing she could think of to do was to move towards the Prime Minister in the hopes that Lord Waverley would watch his words and his grubby hands. Or even better, perhaps he would leave her alone entirely. But no, he followed her like a shadow, nearly stepping on the hem of her pale blue strapless Rami Al Ali gown and exposing her brassiere to everyone at the event. 

Finally, she fixed him with a stern look as she discretely fixed her bodice. “Yes, Lord Waverley?” she asked, her tone slightly clipped

“I think I deserve a dance,” he said, moving towards her. He reached for her arm but she took a step back and his face hardened. “Do you think you’re too good for me?”

“I just don’t want to dance with you,” she said, taking a sip of her champagne and praying he wouldn’t cause a scene.

“You _do_ think you’re too good for me,” he spat out, the volume of his voice increasing as he glared at her. Heads were beginning to turn in their direction. “You think you’re too good for everyone in this room except Mycroft bloody Holmes. Did you whore yourself out to him for your cushy government position? I bet you did. I bet you’re nothing but a two-bit common harlot who got everything flat on your--”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when a fist went flying across his face. Waverley went down to the ground, crumpled in a heap, and then Anthea looked over and saw Mycroft standing over him, his face livid and his nostrils flared. “You are never to speak to Andrea in such a way in my presence again, understood?” he said to Waverley as the man began to sit up.

Waverley looked up at Mycroft with wide eyes for a moment as blood trickled down his face from his nose, and then he narrowed them as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “She’s your whore,” he spat out.

Mycroft knelt down and then hauled Waverley up on his feet so that they were face to face as a crowd gathered around them. “She is my significant other,” he said in a low voice. “And I love her very much, so you will treat her with the utmost respect.”

Waverley placed his hands on Mycroft’s chest to push himself away. Mycroft lowered his hands and started to turn away when Waverley hauled off and punched Mycroft in the face. Mycroft took the punch well, almost as though he had been expecting it to happen, and then he turned around and hit Waverley three more times: once in the gut, once with an uppercut as he started to double over, and one more time across the face. This time, when Waverley sank to the ground, he did not move.

Mycroft looked around at those gathered. “If anyone has any other opinions they would like to voice about Andrea or the status of our relationship with each other, I suggest you keep them to yourself.” He then turned to the Prime Minister and bowed slightly at the waist. “My apologies. I will take whatever punishment is deemed necessary come Monday morning. I believe it is best if Ms. Mitchel and I depart now.” The Prime Minister nodded and Mycroft turned to Anthea. “Shall we?”

“Let me walk out with you,” Lady Smallwood said.

“It would be my pleasure, Elizabeth,” Mycroft replied.

Lady Smallwood moved around Lord Waverley’s unconscious body, giving him a disdainful glance, and then moved to Mycroft’s other side, taking the arm he offered. “I will do what I can to make sure whatever punishment they decide to give to you isn’t severe. But I do believe he started it by accosting Andrea, did he not?” she asked, leaning forward slightly to look at Anthea.

She nodded. “He did.”

“He’s an absolute arse and most people will say he brought it on himself,” Lady Smallwood said. “As for the two of you...I think it comes as no real surprise the true nature of your relationship. And I don’t think there would _really_ be all that much objection if it were to be less of a secret.” She patted Mycroft’s arm lightly. “You might be surprised who shows favour on you, Mycroft, all things considered.”

“I suppose,” he said quietly.

“You are far too important of a cog in the gears of the government to be taken out of play for trivial things like this, Mycroft,” Lady Smallwood said. “A small slap on the wrist is probably all you’ll get, if even that. And it isn’t as though it’s the era of pistols at dawn. If Lord Waverley tries to enact revenge, between myself and your brother, I’m sure you’ll figure out a way of turning it around on him.”

Anthea smiled at her. “You’d help ruin him if he tried to ruin Mycroft?”

“Oh yes. Quite willingly,” Lady Smallwood said with a smile of her own. “He’s harassed many women I’m close to and its behaviour I don’t think should have been allowed to have gone on as long as it has. Whatever you need me to do, either of you, let me know.” They reached the coat check and Lady Smallwood leaned in and patted Mycroft’s cheek. “It will be all right.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said with a small smile.

“Yes, thank you,” Anthea replied as well. Lady Smallwood gave them both a wave and then returned to the party. Once Mycroft had gotten his coat and Anthea had gotten her wrap, Mycroft offered her his arm. “Let’s go home and I’ll take care of the cuts on your face from his rings.”

Mycroft nodded before leaning in and kissing her softly. “I do not deserve you,” he said.

She didn’t reply right away, feeling a bit nervous. She knew Lady Smallwood had clout, but would it be enough to keep Mycroft safe from all the problems and repercussions that could come from this? She desperately hoped it was enough. She loved Mycroft more than she had loved any other man who had been in her life, and she didn’t want to see him be dragged through the ringer for protecting her honour. Because if he was, then it was _she_ who would not deserve _him._


End file.
